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"Stop, stop!' said the old woman, in a loud whisper. 'Will she be buried to-morrow, or next day, or to-night? I laid her out; and I must walk, you know. Send me a large cloak, a good warm one; for it is bitter cold. We should have cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind: send some bread, only a loaf of bread, and a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear?' she said eagerly, catching at the undertaker's coat, as he once more moved towards the door.

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"Yes, yes,' said the undertaker, of course. Any thing you like!' He disengaged himself from the old woman's grasp, and, drawing Oliver after him, hurried away.

"The next day (the family having been meanwhile relieved with a half-quartern loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself), Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode; where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied by four men from the workhouse, who were to act as bearers. An old black cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; and the bare coffin, having been screwed down, was hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street.

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Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady!' whispered Sowerberry in the old woman's ear: 'we are rather late; and it won't do to keep the clergyman waiting. Move on, my men, as quick as you like!'

"Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their

light burden; and the two mourners kept as near them as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good smart pace in front; and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his master's, ran by the side.

"There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had anticipated, however: for when they reached the obscure corner of the churchyard in which the nettles grew, and where the parish-graves were made, the clergyman had not arrived; and the clerk, who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it might be an hour or so before he came. So they put the bier on the brink of the grave, and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain drizzling down; while the ragged boys, whom the spectacle had attracted into the churchyard, played a noisy game at hide-and-seek among the tombstones, or varied their amusements by jumping backward and forward over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire with him, and read the paper.

"At length, after a lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry and the clerk were seen running towards the grave. Immediately afterward the clergyman appeared, putting on his surplice as he came along. Mr. Bumble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reverend gentleman, having read as much of the burial-service as could

be compressed into four minutes, gave his surplice to the clerk, and walked away.

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"Now, Bill!' said Sowerberry to the grave-digger, fill up!'

"It was no very difficult task; for the grave was so full that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger shovelled in the earth, stamped it loosely down with his feet, shouldered his spade, and walked off, followed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so

soon.

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Come, my good fellow!' said Bumble, tapping the man on the back. They want to shut up the yard.' "The man, who had never once moved since he had taken his station by the grave-side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had addressed him, walked forward for a few paces, and fell down in a swoon. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak (which the undertaker had taken off) to pay him any attention: so they threw a can of cold water over him; and, when he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed on their different ways.”

At the present day, when so much more is done to reclaim the fallen women than was ever done before, a rare interest attaches to the chapter in "Oliver Twist" where poor lost Nancy converses with pure Rose May

lie. Hood's exquisitely touching poem, "The Bridge of Sighs," and Miss Phelps's far later "Hedged In,” are remembered as one reads the words of Dickens, written so many years ago, and showing a Christian sympathy with the outcast. Read the description of the interview between the two young women. Poor Nancy!

"The girl's life had been squandered in the streets and among the most noisome of the stews and dens of London but there was something of the woman's original nature left in her still; and when she heard a light step approaching the door opposite to that by which she had entered, and thought of the wide contrast which the small room would in another moment contain, she felt burdened with the sense of her own deep shame, and shrank as though she could scarcely bear the presence of her with whom she had sought this interview.

"But struggling with these better feelings was pride, the vice of the lowest and most debased creature no less than of the high and self-assured. The miserable companion of thieves and ruffians, the fallen outcast of low haunts, the associate of the scourings of the jails and hulks, living within the shadow of the gallows itself, — even this degraded being felt too proud to betray a feeble gleam of the womanly feeling which she thought a weakness, but which alone connected her with that humanity of which her wasting life had obliterated so many, many traces when a very child.

"She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the figure which presented itself was that of a slight and beautiful girl, and then, bending them on the ground, tossed her head with affected carelessness, as she said,

"It's a hard matter to get to see you, lady. If I had taken offence, and gone away, as many would have done, you'd have been sorry for it one day, and not without reason, either.'

"I am very sorry if any one has behaved harshly to you,' replied Rose. Do not think of that. Tell me why you wished to see me. I am the person you inquired for.'

"The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the gentle manner, the absence of any accent of haughtiness or displeasure, took the girl completely by surprise, and she burst into tears.

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"O lady, lady!' she said, clasping her hands passionately before her face: if there was more like you, there would be fewer like me! There would, - there would!'

"Sit down,' said Rose earnestly: you distress me. If you are in poverty or affliction, I shall be truly glad to relieve you if I can. I shall indeed. Sit down.'

"Let me stand, lady,' said the girl, still weeping; "and do not speak to me so kindly till you know me better. It is growing late. Is-is-that door shut?'

"Yes,' said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to be nearer assistance in case she should require it. Why?'

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